


Rank Relationship

by mafgmouse



Series: Rank and File [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Difference (kind of), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Eventual Smut, Feels, If You Squint - Freeform, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Size Difference, Size Kink, Student Steve Rogers, Teacher Bucky Barnes, Teacher-Student Relationship, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, slight D/s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-25 20:57:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4976308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mafgmouse/pseuds/mafgmouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an honorable discharge and long recovery, Sergeant Barnes takes up a position teaching a high school ROTC Military Science class.</p><p>After a series of rejections from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s high school ROTC program, Steve gets to take Sergeant Barnes's Military Science course. </p><p>This turns out to be a big problem for Sergeant Barnes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rank and File

**Author's Note:**

> All I've ever wanted is a little-Steve, Winter Soldier- Bucky student-teacher fic, so I just wrote it myself.

Steve clutched his schedule triumphantly as he left the administrative office of S.H.I.E.L.D. The paper, still warm from the printer, now showed that right after lunch he would be taking Military Science, and even if it wasn’t a spot in ROTC, Steve would take what he could get.

Phillips had laughed in his face when he showed up every year for ROTC registration. Steve kept coming back, hoping that he wouldn’t be asked to present the school nurse’s evaluation that his asthma and high blood pressure (among other myriad ailments) made it a liability for the school to allow him to participate in such rigorous physical exertion.

The idea for a compromise had come from his best friend Sam, who had (along with his vivacious lungs and stunningly average blood pressure) been allowed in ROTC since his freshman year. Senior year ROTC students took a military science course and Sam suggested Steve try to take it with him. There were only 15 seniors in ROTC and plenty of space for little Steve Rogers in Military Science.

That was how Steve ended up walking proudly from the office after exhausting Principal Hill into changing his schedule. He’d had to drop his second elective, but, after a semester of photography last year, he doubted he would become the high school Ansell Adams anytime soon.

He rounded the corner towards his locker and saw Sam leaning against it, waiting for Steve and probably hoping to run in to Natasha, whose locker was next to Steve’s.

Sam looked up from his phone, smiling as he caught sight of his beaming best friend.

“So my brilliant plan worked then?” he asked, throwing an arm around Steve’s shoulders.

“Even the stupidest pig is bound to sniff out a truffle eventually,” Steve said wryly as he pushed Sam’s tree trunk of an arm from his thin shoulders. Sam huffed, but looked pleased, nevertheless. He worked Steve’s schedule free from his hand as Steve started to rummage through his locker. Steve took a surreptitious puff off his inhaler while he was hidden by the locker door. After the alternating anxiety and elation of his meeting with Hill, his lungs felt a little tight.

“We have four classes together now,” Sam crowed as Steve shut his locker and turned to reclaim his schedule. “That’s a record!”

Steve smiled and chatted amiably with Sam as they headed to their first class: math and computation with Mr. Stark. Yeah, that Stark. Two years ago, Tony Stark had left behind his massive defense company in favor of education. The notoriety (and money) he had brought to S.H.I.E.L.D. was most of the reason why a public school in Brooklyn had such developed computer science, art and ROTC programs.

It was fortunate that the first day of every class was essentially wasted because Steve was far too excited to pay any attention. By lunch he was practically vibrating with anticipation. He had texted his mom during break earlier to tell her that he’d gotten the class. As he and Sam sat down at their usual table he pulled out his phone to read her response.

_Your father would be so proud :)_

Steve knew his mother was always secretly relieved every time he returned downtrodden from the first day of classes, rejected once again from ROTC. But he also knew she desperately wished he could pursue the same opportunities as healthy boys his age.

Steve was drawn from his phone when a paper football hit him, glancing sharply off his glasses. He looked up startled, and practically growled when he caught Clint looking far too immersed in a book. Although, he probably did need to concentrate more since, in his haste to appear innocent, Clint hadn’t noticed the book was upside down.

“Barton, I know your literacy leaves a little to be desired,” said Natasha, sliding into the seat next to Steve, much to Sam’s dismay. “But you’d probably find a lot more success if the book was right side up.”

Clint’s face turned ruddy, and he dropped the pretext in favor of glancing around the cafeteria.

“Where’s Bruce?”

“With Stark, I’d imagine,” Natasha said, spearing a piece of broccoli and popping it in her mouth. Steve shook his head.

“Doubtful. He spent all summer working on some top-secret project at Stark Industries. My money’s on Foster’s lab.”

“With that investigative work, you’ll kill the covert ops section of the class, Steve,” Sam joked, rifling through Steve’s bag for the pudding his mom packed.

“Does sculpting count as espionage now?” Natasha smirked.

Sam knocked Steve’s shoulder before saying, “Steve’s going to be joining us for Barnes’s class after this.”

“They let you in to ROTC?” Natasha asked, more a statement than a question, one of her eyebrows arching delicately. To an outsider, she might have seemed cold or cruel, but Natasha had rubbed Steve's back through enough basketball induced asthma attacks for Steve to know that her casual taunting masked genuine concern.

“Yeah,” Steve said, rolling his eyes. “I’m going to be replacing the weights you do bicep curls with.”

Clint cackled as Natasha’s lips pursed.

“On the advice of a certain handsome best friend, Steve got himself enrolled in Military Science with us.”

“But how will you be able to understand the material without running three miles at ass o’clock every morning?” Clint asked flatly. 

“I guess you’ll just have to tutor me, Barton.”

 

* * *

 

“So what is Barnes like?” Steve asked as Sam shouldered open the door to Military Science and the four of them shuffled to a cluster of desks on the left side of the room.

“No clue,” Sam shrugged.

“They’re not a regular instructor?” Steve asked, puzzled.

“Nah, man,” Sam said “But I’d imagine he’s just as crusty and stern as our dear General Phillips, but your guess is as good as mine.”

“They could be a woman,” Steve said indignantly, digging out a pristine notebook. “The schedule just said J. Barnes.”

“Never change, Steve,” Natasha kicked his foot gently from the desk behind him. He flushed.

The bell rang, and the room held exactly 15 ROTC students, one Steve and zero Barneses.

The door opened. Barnes was definitely not a woman.

Barnes was gorgeous. His pouting lips were offset by the sharp edge of his stubbled jaw. He had dark hair escaping from a stubby ponytail and a bulky, muscular build. Barnes was probably almost a foot taller than Steve, and, even though Steve had been joking earlier, could almost certainly use Steve for bicep curls. 

Steve wouldn't object. 

It was a testament to Barnes's appearance that Steve noticed his metal arm after his jawline. His green button up was rolled to the elbows to reveal sleek silver plating and a perfectly sculpted hand. 

As an artist, Steve desperately wanted to draw Barnes, examine his hand from every angle and understand how the plates slid to accommodate movement. As a teenage boy with strong homosexual proclivities, he desperately wanted Barnes to fuck him on the metal instructors desk at the front. If the rest of the class wanted to leave they could, but it would happen whether they were there or not. 

Steve wasn't prepared for the shy smile that Barnes gave the class as he set down his computer bag. 

Now Steve wanted to draw him, fuck him and then also maybe weave flowers into his hair and raise a litter of puppies with him. 

Fuck. 

"Sorry, I'm late," Barnes said, turning to the board to write. "I wasn't expecting such a labyrinth. Back when I was in school we only had one-room schoolhouses." 

Luckily the class was amused enough that no one noticed that Steve laughed too loudly and then tried to cough to cover it up. Jesus. 

"So this is Military Science. My name is James Barnes, but my friends call me Bucky, my inferiors call be Barnes and my CO calls me a little shit," he smiled ruefully. "Since this is an ROTC class, you should all probably call me Sergeant or Sir." 

There's no way this was real. This had to be a dream. Steve was going to wake up with sticky sheets after a dream inspired by his pre-bedtime porn, and have to keep living in a world where this man _could not possibly exist_. 

"Now," Barnes dusted the chalk from his hands, tucking them into the pockets of his slacks, "I'm going to be honest. I was never in ROTC. I never went to college or took a Military Science class."

"I enlisted when I turned 18 and didn't get my GED until about a month ago. I was discharged nine months ago due to my sudden lopsidedness, and, since I no longer can do, I decided to teach." 

The class listened in absorbed silence. No one was tapping at a phone under their desk or trying to have mouthed conversations with their neighbor. Barnes looked pleased, if a little disquieted, at the attentiveness of the class. 

"So while I don't have a Ph.D. or any published papers, I do have a lot of practical knowledge, and hopefully some experience-based expertise," Barnes concluded, clapping his hands, metal and flesh, together. "Now, let's take a look at that syllabus." 

* * *

 

Bucky hoped his class didn't notice that his hands shook as passed out the syllabi. After a night spent agonizing over the next day and then a frantic search through the school for the room, he thought his heart was going to explode when he finally got into the class. The class certainly seemed to be interested in what he was saying. That or they were enraptured by how his shirt was already probably completely soaked through. 

Once everyone had a syllabus, Bucky placed an extra copy on the desk for his reference. If he held it they would see how his flesh hand quivered, or how his metal hand wasn't calibrated to hold something as thin as paper without it slipping from his smooth fingers. He managed to make it through the curriculum and instruct the students to skim the first chapter while he turned on his computer. With five minutes left in class, he realized he hadn't taken attendance. 48 minutes as a teacher and he was already shit. 

Bucky attempted a charming smile before saying, "Now I'm going to smoothly transition to attendance and pretend that I intended to leave that for the end. If you'd like to go by something other than your given name, just let me know now." 

He rattled off the list, thankfully never stumbling too badly over anyone's name. Bucky made it to the last five names, looking at each student, hoping to have some association for the next day. 

"Steven Rogers?" 

"Here." 

Bucky looked up to the source of the deep voice towards the right front of the room, and his heart seemed to stop and then restart at triple time. 

Bucky laid eyes on a wisp of a teenage boy, bright eyes shining behind thick glasses, and knew that he was well and truly fucked. 


	2. Breaking Ranks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky talk to each other... and then there's a little porn at the end.

On the third day of class, Barnes pulled a paper from his bag to hand around to the class.

“Since this class is so small, I think it would be a good idea for me to meet with each of you one-on-one,” Barnes said, rolling the cuffs of his shirt, black today, up to his elbow. It was raining and there were water droplets visible on his hair and shoulders.

In other news, the massive boner Steve harbors for his Military Science teacher has not subsided.

“They won’t be long, just some time at lunch to talk and I can answer any questions you might have about this class, active duty or your future in general. Sound good?” Barnes concluded, clapping his hands together. “Who’s ready for some Adaptive Leadership?”

Steve was quickly learning that ‘leadership’ was the buzzword of ROTC. When he’d mentioned that to Sam, Clint and Natasha at lunch earlier they had all groaned.

“Man, don’t say the L-word when I’m eating,” Sam threw down his sandwich in mock disgust.

“Now, I’d be _much_ more in favor of that L-word,” Clint said, winking and then wincing in quick succession as Natasha’s boot caught his shin.

Steve looked to Bruce, who had rejoined them after several lunch periods spent pouring over research notes from his summer with Dr. Foster.

“Don’t look at me,” Bruce said. “I fall outside of the leader-follower model.”

Steve barely noticed the paper Sam was waving in front of his face, his arm craned behind him. He grabbed it quickly, fairly certain Sam had been waving it around for a while now. Steve’s stomach dropped as he looked over the sheet, hoping his apparent distress could be attributed to fitting the meeting into his very busy schedule.

In reality, Steve felt a little queasy at the idea of meeting with Barnes, even if just for a 46-minute lunch period. His anxiety was only partially due to how often gray eyes and metal fingers factored into his jerk off fantasies.

As far as he knew, Barnes had no clue that Steve wasn’t even in ROTC, had no prayer of ever being allowed to pursue a career in the military. Steve hoped that his dedication to the class covered up how obviously he didn’t belong there. He always did the assigned reading, taking careful notes and writing down insightful questions for class. He tried to raise his hand in class enough to maintain a comfortable balance between attentive participation and Tourette’s.

But Steve still knew he was an imposter. From what Natasha, Clint and Sam described of their workouts, a single morning run with ROTC would almost certainly kill Steve. Natasha and Sam were both paradigms of young fitness, and, even though he made a show of being a slob, Clint was similarly athletic. On top of that, they all also possessed a bevy of other useful skills: Natasha was a martial arts prodigy whose language skills were unparalleled; Sam had won countless certificates for his Model UN participation; and, while his skills were more often used for spitballs and paper footballs, Clint was a practically Olympic level marksman.

Steve did good doodles.

His overall discomfort combined with how much he desperately wanted to impress Sergeant Barnes made his hand shake as he signed up for Wednesday of the next week. That should give him enough to time to dig straight to Nanjing.

Steve shoved the paper over to Natasha and tuned back in to whatever Barnes was saying.

“You’re going to be working in groups for the day,” Barnes shook his head at the looks of anticipation in the class. “You’ll be working in _groups of my choice_ to evaluate the case I assign you and use the strategies from the reading to form a plan. By the end of class you’ll hand in the answers to the questions on the back of your case sheet.”

Assigned groups. What hath God wrought? 

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky couldn’t lie. Probably 80% of why he had fallen back on that old “group work” cop out was so that he didn’t have to listen to Steve Rogers give insightful commentary or watch him chew his mouth red before deciding to raise his hand or pretend that he wasn’t constantly making plans to ask Steve to stay after class for an extra credit opportunity.

Bucky was going to hell.

The problem (aside from wanting to see Steve on his knees so bad his teeth hurt), was that Bucky really had a type. Whether it was the slight hipsters who caught his eye in Starbucks, or the twinks he liked to see getting pounded in porn, or (apparently, devastatingly) the students in his Military Science class, Bucky had a type.

He sat at his desk, glancing over the sign-up sheet for one-on-one meetings. That, he swore, wasn’t a ploy to get Steve Rogers alone. His mentor/savior/life-coach/reason he was employed Peggy had suggested he get to know his students and offer individual advice. She had no clue just how much Bucky wanted to give Steve _something_.

After inputting the appointments into his calendar, Bucky looked up to make sure that each group was on task. Sam and Natasha were clearly doing everything while Clint doodled; he wasn’t sure how they’d managed to get into the same group, but he was a little too afraid of Natasha to say anything, if he’s being honest.

He’d put Steve with Rumlow and Rhodes. Rumlow was glaring very hard at Steve as Rogers talked and wrote simultaneously, but Rhodes seemed to be running interference.

Bucky meandered among the class to offer assistance where he could. Being an officer had really prepared him to pretend he knew what he was doing in the face of total unpreparedness.

He was bent over a desk, trying to help a group, when a small blond blur brushed past him and out of the room. Bucky hadn’t seen fit to enact a bathroom policy, because frankly he couldn’t care less, but people usually at least made awkward eye contact with him as they left to check.

Bucky looked over to see Brock and James engaged in a quiet argument. The bell kept him from engaging, but as students filtered out, he noticed Sam stooping to pick up Steve’s backpack.

“Leave it, Wilson,” Bucky said, trying not to sound ominous. “I want to talk to Rogers anyway.”

Sam seemed prepared to object, but after a significant look from Natasha shrugged and followed her and Clint from the room.  

 

* * *

Steve was in a supply closet because he was ridiculous. He could handle Brock’s subtle jabs, or snide remarks every time he spoke up in class. What he couldn’t handle was that Brock was one of the few people who knew he was gay, after overhearing a hushed conversation between Clint and Sam in, what they thought, was an empty locker room after morning workouts.

Steve heard the bell ring and dragged himself out of the closet, making sure no one was around to witness.

He headed towards his locker, hoping Sam had grabbed his stuff. If he had to go back to that room and face Barnes he would vomit.

“Barnes wouldn’t let me grab your stuff,” Sam said, shrugging helplessly. “Said he wanted to talk to you.”

Steve was going to vomit.

When he slipped into the Military Science room, it was empty. He counted his lucky stars as he tried to gather his stuff and make his escape.

“Rogers.”

The voice came as Steve was reaching for the door handle. So close. He turned to see Barnes emerge from the inner hallway, a small smile on his face, like he knew exactly what Steve was playing at.

“You don’t need to run,” he said, walking over to sit down at his desk, gesturing for Steve to sit down nearby. “I’ll write you a note for your next class.”

“My next class is art,” Steve said as he perched in the chair Barnes indicated. “I’m pretty sure I could send Sam to class with a ‘Steve Rogers’ name tag for the rest of the term and they wouldn’t do anything.”

Barnes laughed, and Steve’s heart almost fell out of his butt.

This close he could see details in Barnes’s arm that he’d never noticed before. The way the plates varied, thin ridges on the hand like the lines on his flesh one, the soft whirring the mechanism made as he twirled a pen between his fingers. Steve wondered if he had any sensation in the arm or just dexterity.

“I’m not going to make you tell me what happened in class,” Barnes said, clearing his throat. Steve realized he’d been very obviously staring and felt his face heat up.

“I knew a lot of guys like Rumlow when I was in,” he smiled wryly. “The good news, he probably won’t get very far. The bad news is that doesn’t help you right now.”

“Thanks… I guess?” Steve said, before adding a hasty, “Sir.”

“No problem. I won’t keep you any longer. We can talk more when we meet next week,” Barnes turned to rummage in his desk for a tardy slip.

Steve hefted his bag over his shoulder, and stood awkwardly as he waited for his pass. Barnes stood to hand it to him.

This was much closer than they’d ever been. From here, Steve was reminded of their size difference. The top of his messy head would barely reach mid chest on Barnes, and Steve was pretty sure his waist was the approximate circumference of his bicep. When he gave him the note, Steve stifled a shiver upon noticing the thick fingers and broad palms of Barnes’s callused hands.

“Were you a marksman?” Steve asked without thinking, tilting his face up to look at Barnes’s surprised expression.

“You, uh, have the same calluses as Clint and Natasha,” his voice waivered at the end, realizing this was probably inappropriate at best, possible really insensitive at worst. But Barnes smiled and replied,

“You have excellent observational skills. I was a sniper, but I haven’t practiced for so long I probably couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn,” his face became thoughtful. “I’m surprised you noticed. I would have thought the calluses were all gone by now.”

Steve wished he hadn’t said anything. He knew his face was so red, partially from the embarrassment of revealing how closely he paid attention to Barnes, but mostly because of how much his _hands_ were apparently a thing for Steve.

Barnes looked back up at him, smiling and pretending that Steve’s face wasn’t roughly the shade of cherry Slurpee.

“You must be a very talented artist with that attention to detail. I’ll let you get to class,” he turned back towards his desk, and Steve escaped, heart pounding.

 

* * *

 

_Steve was back in Barnes’s class, asked to wait behind while everyone else filtered off to their next class. Once the last person left, Barnes told him to sit and, as he walked over to throw away a wrapper left behind on a desk, locked the door._

_Steve swallowed loudly, as Barnes walked casually to where he sat, towering over him. He craned his neck back, trying to keep eye contact._

_“Did you need to talk to me about something, Mr. Barnes?” he asked softly._

_“I think you should call me sir, right now, Steve.” Steve dipped his head, flushing, hoping that his shirt sufficiently concealed how hard he was._

_He felt a cool touch on his chin, sliding back along his jaw, cupping his neck, before tangling in the short golden hairs on the back of his head. He felt a gentle but firm tug as Barnes drew his face back up to look at him._

_“Yes, sir.”_

_Barnes full lips curled into a kind smile._

_“What do you want, baby?”_

_Steve flushed even deeper if possible. He couldn’t form the words, but his eyes flicked from Barnes’s eyes down to his crotch, directly on level with him._

_“Oh, you’re so good, baby. Take what you want.”_

_Steve reached with trembling hands to undo the button of his slacks, but Barnes stopped him._

_“Sir?”_

_“No hands for now, Steve. I don’t know if you’re ready yet.”_

_He shuddered, leaning in, hesitating before softly nuzzling his face against his fly. He could feel him, hard and hot next to his cheek. Steve turned running his nose up and down his length. He grew bold and opened his mouth to breathe onto the pressed material of his pants._

_“Oh, Stevie, that’s it, that’s just perfect,” Barnes tipped his head back and gently cradled the back of Steve’s head in his flesh hand, his thumb rubbing rhythmic circles on the overheated skin of his neck. “Fuck.”_

_Steve mouthed desperately at the material, wanting to feel Barnes, hot and huge inside of him, finally. But Barnes drew him back, tilting his face up again. Steve knew he must look ridiculous, panting and flushed._

_“Please, sir.”_

_He had no idea what he wanted; just anything, just more._

_Barnes looked at him with such lust, Steve could have come right then. He slid his metal hand from where it had come to rest on Steve’s shoulder up, dragging his thumb up the tendon of his neck, over his Adam’s apple, his chin, before gently sliding over his full bottom lip, requesting access._

_Steve moaned enthusiastically, sucking his thumb into his mouth, trying to show Barnes how good he could be if given the real thing._

_“Oh, baby, you need it bad, don’t you?” Barnes sounded breathless. Steve looked up at him, hollowing his cheeks like he’d seen twinks do in porn, and hoped Barnes would replace the thumb resting on his lip with his cock._

_Barnes tightened his hand in Steve’s hair, and the teenager moaned wantonly, hoping Barnes’s resolve would break._

_“So needy.”_

_“Please, sir,” Steve reluctantly relinquished his thumb. “I need your cock in my mouth. Want you to fill me up.”_

_“You want it so bad, baby. Do you think you could come just from sucking my big cock?”_

Steve woke up with an uncomfortable mess in his boxers, and the beginnings of another hard-on.


	3. Top Rank

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is way ridiculously longer than the other two, but it also has thousands of words of porn. I'm really happy/surprised about the positive response for this :)

“So anyway, that’s why I think I should just tell Natasha that I love her and ask her to marry me, give up her career and spend the rest of her life making me pelmeni.”

“Sounds like a plan, Sam,” Steve mumbled, as he rummaged through his locker, placing a book in his bag he had already removed and replaced four times.

“Okay, one,” Sam said, placing a broad hand on Steve’s forehead and pushing him away from his locker, “You aren’t listening to me at all. Two, you need to calm down.”

“I am calm,” Steve gritted out, slamming his locker.

“You really seem it,” Natasha appeared over Sam’s shoulder, seemingly from thin air. “Why are you so very calm this morning?”

“Barnes,” Sam said at the same time that Steve growled, “Nothing.”

“Steve, it’s really nothing to worry about.”

“What’s nothing to worry about?” Barton tried to literally slide up to them, but ended up crashing into Steve’s locker.

“Steve’s nervous about his meeting with Barnes,” Sam piped up, ever helpful.

“You should be,” Barton deadpanned. “It’s very painful. Practically torture.”

Natasha punched his arm and, based on how Barton rubbed his shoulder, not gently.

“Easy for all of you,” Steve said, adjusting his bag over his shoulder as they headed towards the east wing of S.H.I.E.L.D. “You all have promising military careers to ask him questions about.”

“We hardly even discussed career prospects, Steve,” Natasha said as they turned down an abandoned hallway.

“Yeah, we mostly just talked about baseball,” Sam shrugged.

“Hear that, Steve? Baseball! You love bats and balls,” Clint said, positively beaming at his own joke. “Right, guys? Because gay!”

Natasha and Sam exchanged exasperated looks with each other.

“I’m not nervous anymore,” Steve said, rolling his eyes. “Clint’s taking all the stupid with him.”

“That’s the spirit!” Sam clapped him on the back.

Steve still wanted to throw up. 

* * *

 

Steve approached the Military Science room at a trudge. Barnes was out of the way of most other classes, tucked near the metal shop and the long abandoned drama room.

 _All the better to seduce him_ , thought Steve’s treacherous mind. He’d been having dreams— _dreams_ —about Barnes for the better part of week. It was agony.

In addition, Rumlow had taken to cornering him in the alley between their apartment building to taunt him any day that Sam wasn’t with him. And, since Sam had been spending a lot of time with Natasha (‘Nat’ as Sam called her dreamily), that was most days. As a result, Steve had been a real stress-ball as of late.

It wasn’t anything to innovative, mostly just barbs about his sexuality, pushing him up against the wall. Rumlow had blackened Steve’s eye earlier in the week, but that was no problem. Steve could easily pass it off to his friends as being acquired standing up to bullies in the building catcalling girls hardly out of middle school, and he hadn’t seen his mom all week.

She was on night-shifts and usually stayed later than she needed to to give another nurse (a new father) time to nap before his shift started. Steve did clerical work down at the hospital to make extra money over the summer, but mom wouldn’t allow it during the school year. As a result, he hadn’t seen her since Saturday.

Steve paused outside of the door and took a deep breath.

* * *

 

Bucky tried to focus on the sheet in front of him. He had another student meeting at lunch and was pretending that he wasn’t acutely aware that it was Steve Rogers.

Little, beautiful Steve Rogers.

In a shocking turn of events, Bucky was actually pretty good at math, but convergent series were a real dick. 

The door creaked open and he heard a tentative “Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky looked up, smiling in a way he hoped wasn’t too enthusiastic.

“Steve, take a seat.”

As Steve obeyed, he not so subtly craned his neck to see what Bucky was working on.

“Calculus,” Bucky said, smiling ruefully and holding up the notebook. “I’m working on my AA, and math is a lot harder than I remember.”

“I could, um, help you?” Steve’s voice broke slightly at the end. Bucky raised his eyebrows.

“I could help you,” Steve repeated, more firm this time, and stood to move around the desk and look at Bucky’s notebook. He leaned over, and pushed his glasses more firmly into place as the slid down the bridge of his slightly crooked nose.

Steve up close was breathtaking. He had very long eyelashes and a dusting of very fine stubble on his cheeks. He lips reddened as he rolled them into his mouth, releasing them as his blue eyes flitted over the paper. Perhaps most troubling was his smell. He smelled faintly of aftershave, like it had been watered down, clean laundry and… fresh paper, maybe?

Bucky swallowed and scooted his chair so his lap was more securely hidden beneath the desk.

“Oh, no,” Steve said shaking his head; he reached for the pencil Bucky held loosely in his hand, before pausing to look at this teacher questioningly. Bucky handed him the pencil. 

“You can’t use the integral test on this series. See if you just do this,” Steve poked his tongue between his teeth as he scratched at the notebook. “You can simplify it and then just use the exponent to see if it converges.”

Bucky shook himself out of being mesmerized by Steve to look at what he was doing on the paper. His eyebrows drew down in confusion.

“Why can you just get rid of that?”

“Once you do enough math you’ll discover that you pretty much get to just ignore stuff that’s inconvenient,” Steve set the pencil down and retreated to the seat on the other side of the desk.

“But how do you know what’s too important to ignore?”

“Like I said, you figure it out,” Steve shrugged, he smiled before adding, “sir.”

Bucky laughed to cover his whimper.

“Sorry about the distraction,” he apologized, closing the notebook and shifting it over. He pulled his lunch out from his desk. Bucky found students were usually more comfortable if they actually ate lunch. “Are you a math person?”

Steve nodded enthusiastically. “I’ve done all of the AP math courses S.H.I.E.L.D. offers already. I’m in Stark’s Math of Computation class now, but it’s more about coding than anything else. I miss analytical math.”

“That’s really cool, Steve,” Bucky said, unwrapping his sandwich. Steve flushed and focused very intently on opening a granola bar. “Are you hoping to do something with math in the military?”

Steve opened his mouth and then closed it, flushing deeper if possible.

“I actually… am not… I mean,” he paused and visibly swallowed, averting his eyes downward. “I can’t go into the military.”

Bucky cocked his head.

“I couldn’t pass a physical to save my life,” Steve explained, looking guilty for some reason. “I’ve got asthma, heart troubles, hell I might even have a third eye I don’t know about.”

Bucky smiled, but pressed on.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t do anything in the military, just maybe not combat.”

Steve looked a little surprised, but shifted focus to popping a piece of granola bar in his mouth.

“Can I ask why you’re in the class if you aren’t in ROTC?” Bucky asked, trying to sound curious and not accusatory.

“I’ve always wanted to be in ROTC, go into combat,” Steve explained and shifted uneasily. “My dad was in the Army. Died just after we invaded Iraq.”

Bucky’s throat tightened.

“That’s really hard, Steve. You must have been pretty young?”

“Yeah,” Steve nodded, still focused on his food.

“My mom was in the Air Force. She died when I was a teenager,” Bucky said, hoping to comfort Steve a bit. Still, it seemed better to change the subject.

“Well, regardless of combat readiness, you’re doing really well in the class.”

Steve smiled, “Thanks. The material is really interesting.”

“Rumlow still giving you a hard time?”

Steve tensed. That was a yes.

“He usually does,” Steve shrugged. “We live in adjacent buildings on Martense. It doesn’t really bother me anymore.”

“Why you?”

Steve looked at him flatly and arched a dark blonde eyebrow.

“Well, at first it was because of how old I am, then in middle school it was how small I am and now it’s mostly how gay I am.”

Bucky’s teeth clenched and he knew his eyes had gone cold.

“Steve, that’s really not okay.”

Steve rolled his eyes, setting his chin defiantly.

“There are people who have it a lot worse than I do. And half the time Brock comes for me it’s because I stopped him from picking on someone else. I’d rather it was me.”

Bucky met his eyes, working his jaw.

“What do you mean he pick on you for how old you are? Are you that young for your grade?”

Steve sighed in exasperation.

“I’m _older_ than him,” he explained. “I’m already nineteen.”

This was torture. Steve was five years younger than him. Bucky’s step mom was seven years older than his father. He knew for a fact Becca was seeing someone who was at least three years Bucky’s senior.

“I was sick a lot when I was a kid,” Steve continued, seemingly unaware of the intense inner turmoil his words were causing Bucky. “I did a year of preschool and then stayed in the hospital for almost a full year.”

“That makes me feel a little better for being so pitiful at math compared to you,” Bucky joked trying to lighten the mood. Steve laughed and tossed his granola bar wrapper in the trash by Bucky’s desk.

“So, is it safe to assume Rumlow did that to your eye then?”

“With all due respect, this is just really not as big of a deal as you’re making it out to be,” Steve said stonily, crossing his arms over his thin chest. “I can handle myself.”

“Okay,” Bucky said slowly, spending an agonizing moment before decided to act. “Well, in case you ever can’t handle yourself, I live on Fairview.”

He ripped a scrap of paper from his notebook and scribbled down his phone number. This was completely appropriate. He was just helping a bullied student, who was out, no longer a minor and virtually unprotected.

Bucky handed the paper to Steve, who took it hesitantly. “If you feel like you’re in trouble, you should call me.”

Steve hesitated, before nodding and shifting to tuck the paper into the pocket of his jeans.

“Can I ask you something personal now?” Steve asked, smiling softly.

“I certainly think that you’ve earned it,” Bucky laughed, only a little nervous.

“How did you lose your arm?”

Bucky paused. He gathered his thoughts, deciding if he should give Steve the truncated version.

“God, I’m so sorry,” Steve said hastily. “That was over the line. I shouldn’t have—“

“Steve, it’s fine,” Bucky said quietly, before steeling himself to tell the story.

“I was patrolling on my own in a village, near a school, a market, a few blocks from a mosque. During that time of day, most of the people around were children or elderly women,” Bucky looked down at his hands, metal and flesh. “There was a suicide bomber. I stopped him, but he had cover. I was shot down and then captured. There weren’t any others from my squadron in that village, and even though people around tried to stop them, they didn’t have weapons.”

“I won’t go into too much detail. But they had me for almost two months. There were two bullets in my arm that got infected and they cut it off after a few weeks,” Bucky hadn’t told even his family this much. When he was discharged, his CO had gently suggested he tell non-medical personnel that it had been an IED. Even with his therapist, it had taken him months to tell them that the arm had been cut off while he was still held captive and not after his rescue.

The bell rang making Bucky and Steve both jump.

Bucky laughed, a bit uneasy.

“That was certainly one of my more intense meetings,” he stood up. “I feel like we need to schedule another appointment so that I can stumble over small-talk questions I found online and you can stare at me blankly.”

Steve laughed, harder than the quip deserved, “Thanks, Mr. Barnes.”

Warmth blossomed in Bucky’s chest as he watched Steve move towards his desk for class.

* * *

 

It only took a month for Steve to need Barnes’s number.

Steve had been frequenting his room at lunch to ask questions, help Barnes with math problems and sometimes just to talk. Barnes was really easy to talk to (probably because, as Steve discovered recently, Barnes was only 24 and also had the most childish nickname: Bucky).

Naturally, Rumlow had noticed.

He’d taunted Steve about the amount of time he spent in Barnes’s room, asking if he was hoping Barnes had suffered enough brain damage to let Steve suck his dick. Rumlow made the mistake of calling Steve a fairy within earshot of Natasha, who had slid around a corner and closed a locker on his head. Rumlow was left with ringing ears, and, apparently, an appetite for revenge.

That was how Steve found himself being followed on his way home from school. It was November and dusk was already falling, bringing with it a crisp chill. Steve head two sets of footprints behind him, looking surreptitiously to see some guys from school he’d never spoken to.

Probably nothing to worry about. He rubbed his hands together, leaning down to breath hot on his chilly fingers through thin gloves.

When he looked up, two figures had appeared in front of him, equally hulking as those behind. They were still walking in the same direction as Steve, but he could sense an ambush when he saw one.

Steve turned at the next street intending to cut down an alley. He heard footsteps follow him.

Deciding quickly, Steve pulled his phone from his pocket and called the number he’d programmed in weeks ago, praying Barnes would pick up the unknown call.

“Hello?”

“Umm, Barnes?”

“Steve, is that you? Are you in trouble?”

“No… I don’t know.”

“Where are you?”

“An alley off Ocean near Martense. I think someone’s following me.”

“I’ll be there soon. Try to get into an occupied building.”

The line went dead.

Steve took three random turns in rapid succession and heard the footsteps fade and then stop altogether. Maybe he was just being paranoid, maybe his crush on Barnes had made him construct trouble in his head just to be rescued.

A shadow passed over Steve before he was grabbed and shoved face-first into a wall, rattling his teeth and scraping his chin.

* * *

 

It took Bucky a lot longer to find Steve than he would have liked. But after driving his bike down a few alleys, Bucky heard a chorus of grunts and the sounds of meat being tenderized. He parked his bike illegally and shot off down the alley.

Rumlow was kneeling over a small figure, a tuft of blonde visible under arms held protectively above his head. Rumlow managed two solid blows around the face and then stomach, and Steve’s protective position faltered giving Rumlow the opportunity to deliver a few quick jabs at his stomach and ribs.

Bucky put on a burst of speed. He approached them near silently and said nothing as he grabbed the collar of Rumlow’s jacket with his flesh hand and used the inhuman strength of his left arm shove him brutally into the wall.

He wanted to kill him. Bucky wanted to pulverize his kidneys, deliver a sharp blow to his knee, maybe castrate him—

His gore fantasies were interrupted by a desperate whimper behind him. Bucky cleanly smacked Rumlow’s head into the brick wall, enough to knock him out and give him one hell of a headache, not enough for permanent damage. Unfortunately.

Bucky’s heart turned over as he pivoted to help Steve. Steve had returned to his protective ball, hitching sobs escaping in hot puffs.

“Steve,” Bucky kneeled beside him, gently placing a hand on his should. “Steve, it’s Bucky, er Barnes.”

Steve relaxed slightly and shifted to sit up, gasping in pain.

“Hey, hey, let’s take it slow,” Steve didn’t protest as Bucky wrapped an arm around his waist and helped him sit up. He took a few steadying breaths before looking up at Bucky. His eyes shimmered with tears and his cheeks were pink. Without thinking, Bucky moved his flesh hand to feel his cheeks, his forehead.

“We need to get you warmed up. Do you think you can walk? How badly did he hurt you?”

“I fine, I can’t go to the hospital—I don’t need to,” Steve amended quickly.

“Can’t or don’t need to?”

“Would you believe me if I said both?” Steve asked, flashing a pleading smile.

Bucky rolled his lips in, thinking for a moment, before taking a deep breath and nodding.

“For now, you can come to mine, but if I think you need it, you’re going right to the hospital, okay?”

Steve nodded frantically. Bucky sighed and used the arm around his waist to gently heft him to his feet. After a moment to steady himself, Steve stood on his own and was able to follow Bucky back to his bike with relatively little trouble. He handed Steve his helmet and tried not think too carefully about how his little arms felt on Bucky’s waist as he drove towards his apartment.

* * *

 

Steve knew he wasn’t that badly hurt because his cock was definitely stirring in his jeans. He tried to shift his hips back a bit and the cold air around helped, but the awkward angle to keep ahold of Barnes strained his probably bruised ribs. It was worth it.

Barnes stopped in front of a two-family home and led Steve to the porch on the left, and into the apartment on the bottom floor. Steve looked around, trying not to seem nosy. Barnes had a large comfortable couch and a television with a few game systems underneath. There wasn’t much art on the walls, and Steve could see what looked like a medal display box collecting dust underneath a stack of cookbooks.

A soft tinkling at his feet drew Steve’s attention to a large tortoiseshell cat with electric green eyes. He bent to pet her, but drew back quickly hissing as he remembered his injuries.

Barnes slid past him and scooped up the cat, murmuring to her before swooping another cat Steve hadn’t noticed from a scratching tree by the couch.

Barnes ducked into what looked like a bathroom, and after a few moments retreated, closing the door behind him and clutching a first aid kit. Steve moved hesitantly into the light of the kitchen. He figured his face didn’t look too good right now, and based on the way Barnes’s eyes hardened when he looked at him, he figured right.

“Can you hop up on the counter?”

Normally Steve would protest at being treated like a child, but not now. He went to brace his arms and jump, but was reminded again of how tender he currently was in his abdomen.

Barnes heard his aborted sound of pain and turned from the first aid kit to lift him onto the counter, hands big and sturdy on his waist.

Again Steve would normally protest, but he was too focused on willing his cock to stay soft.

* * *

 

Bucky forced himself to remain calm. Ever since he’d returned from overseas he’d found it much more difficult to check his temper, and Steve had dealt with enough without having to also witness one of Bucky’s meltdowns.

His shook slightly, but stayed gentle as they swiped the blood away from where Steve’s scraped chin before scrubbing it away from around his nose and mouth. There was a cut near his eye, but aside from that Steve would only walk away with some nasty bruises.

“Do you mind if I see if you’re ribs are broken?” Bucky asked hesitantly. He had limited medical field training, but enough that he thought he could tell if there was any major internal damage.

Steve nodded jerkily, and stayed tense as Bucky pressed gently around his ribs and then down on his abdomen.

“Any sharp or shooting pain?”

Steve thought for a moment. “No. Just tender.”

Bucky nodded and helped him from the countertop.

“See?” Steve smiled and gestured with his arms, spinning in a circle. “No big deal.”

Bucky’s chest tightened and he backed away to lean against the low wall between the kitchen and living room.

“No big deal?” he dropped his face to massage his temples with his metal hand. Sometimes the cold metal grounded him and kept him calm.

Not this time.

“Steve,” Bucky breathed deeply, before looking up at the teenager in his kitchen. “Do you have any idea how bad tonight could have been? What could have happened if I hadn’t found you? Or if you’d been stupid enough not to call me in the first place?”

He saw Steve’s jaw harden before he opened his mouth to protest. Bucky pressed on.

“I know that you’re used to being a punching bag or don’t want to make a fuss or whatever, but you _can’t handle him_ Steve! And you shouldn’t have to,” he scrubbed his hands over his face.

“Look, Mr. Barnes, I know that that seemed bad, but it would get way worse, so much worse if I tried to get him in trouble.”

“Worse than getting beaten to death alone in an alley, Steve?”

Steve crossed his arms over his thin chest, shaking his head and diverting his eyes.

“You just don’t understand.”

“I understand a hell of lot more than you do,” Bucky slammed a fist against the wall behind him. “God damn it, Steve.”

He realized he was yelling and forced himself to stop. Bucky hid his face in his hands, unable to face Steve. He took deep breaths and hoped to calm down. He hadn’t felt like this in… well, he didn’t think he’d ever felt like this. Bucky just wanted to bundle Steve away where nothing could hurt him, show him only love and soft touches.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t even keep him safe from high school bullies.

Bucky distantly heard Steve take a shuddering breath and then the sound of footsteps.

Good. He needed to leave and get far away from Bucky.

But the steps approached him instead. He could feel Steve standing close, almost toe-to-toe. The teenager shuffled unbearable closer.

Bucky felt Steve’s slender fingers wrap around his wrists to pull his hands away from his face. Even as he obliged, Bucky kept his eyes down in shame at his outburst.

Steve’s hands slid from his wrist up his arms and around to cradle his head, threading through his hair, still pulled back sloppily after the bike ride.

“Bucky, look at me.”

He shivered. He’d never heard his nickname from Steve. He’d told him weeks ago, but hadn’t expected Steve to remember. Since he’d come home he had always been James, but he thought hearing Steve call him that right now might break him.

Bucky looked down to meet Steve’s blue eyes.

“I’m alright, Bucky. You saved me.”

Steve’s cheeks flushed red and he ducked his head to press against Bucky’s chest.

Something in Bucky broke. He reached with his metal arm, bending to wrap it firmly around Steve’s waist. He pressed his flesh hand into soft golden hairs, tucking Steve’s head under his chin.

“You’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” Steve affirmed, his breath warm on Bucky’s throat. “I’m okay and you’re okay.”

Bucky closed his eyes and tightened his grip on Steve.

* * *

 

Steve had never in his life felt so safe, so cared for, so _warm._ He was always shivering, but Bucky seemed to cease his trembling muscles. The body heat even seemed to soothe the aching bruises on his body (although he knew that was probably just in his head).

With a sudden burst of courage (or brain damage; Rumlow had hit him pretty hard in the head), Steve nuzzled against Bucky and pressed a soft kiss to his clavicle. When Bucky stiffened, but didn’t immediately push him away, he moved higher pressing a kiss to the curve of his shoulder, the pale skin of his neck, his Adam’s apple. With Bucky bent over slightly to hold him, Steve only needed to go on tip toe to kiss the underside of his jaw and then the cleft in his chin. Before moving to his mouth, Steve paused. He pulled back slightly to look at Bucky, who’s eyes opened sluggishly, blinking as though he’d just awoken from a long sleep.

“Can I kiss you?” Steve felt so foolish.

He felt less foolish when Bucky forewent an answer in favor of pulling him impossibly closer and molding his lips to Steve’s.

* * *

 

He needed to stop. Bucky needed to pull away and beg Steve to never tell anyone and then maybe jump into the East River.

But God, it was just so good. As long as Bucky was going to be fired, he would enjoy this while it lasted.

Steve’s lips were cool and slightly chapped under his. Bucky moved his hand from the back of Steve’s head to gently grasp his jaw, guiding him slightly as he parted his lips and licked softly into Steve’s mouth.

Reluctantly, Bucky started to pull back.

“No, please,” Steve groaned and tightened his grip in Bucky’s hair, crushing him back close. Bucky whimpered and moved to wrap both arms around Steve, straightening so that the younger boy’s toes left the ground. Steve gave a little squeak, before moving to wrap his legs around Bucky’s hips. He could feel Steve hard against him.

Bucky maneuvered through the small kitchen to set Steve on the counter before gently pulling away. His legs tightened around Bucky, trying to keep him in place. Bucky gently prized Steve’s thighs away from their grip on him, and looked down (Christ, how was he still looking _down_ at him?) into Steve’s eyes.

Steve’s angry eyes.

“Look, Steve. This—“

“Nope,” Steve shook his head vigorously. “I’m nineteen, you’re barely five years older than me. Don’t act like this is wrong.”

“Age aside, I’m your teacher. I’m an authority figure, I control your grades,” Bucky staid firm.

“Please,” Steve rolled his eyes. “Bucky, you’re a great teacher and all, but your tests are multiple choice and are usually straight out of the book.”

“This isn’t about my testing style,” Bucky fumed silently. “And, regardless, your grades could be artificially inflated because we have a personal relationship.”

“And how do you artificially inflate an A+?” Steve asked, flatly.

“That’s beside the point.”

“That is _literally_ the point,” Steve raised his voice for the first time.

Silence fell for a moment before Steve changed tactics.

“Look, Bucky, I really like you. You’re not that much older than me and I know you’re too good of a person to let this affect my grade. I care about you. And I know you feel the same,” he paused, biting his lip (this kid was really laying it on thick and, Christ, if it wasn’t working). “You feel the same, right?”

Bucky sighed, heavily.

“You already know I do, Steve.”

“And you want me?”

Bucky met his eyes and swallowed thickly. Steve smiled gently, no longer playing games.

“Then take me,” he said, softly. Steve smiled wickedly, before adding, “Sir.”

Bucky was pretty sure he growled as he yanked Steve closer to claim his mouth. He wrapped his hands around Steve’s narrow hips, relishing in how small he was, encouraging the teenager to press closer, grind himself into Bucky’s stomach.

Bucky swallowed Steve’s moans as he moved erratically against him. After a few moments, Steve pulled away panting.

“Wait, Buck, I gotta tell you something.”

Bucky waited.

“I don’t have much experience with all of, er, this,” Steve gestured vaguely down at their crotches. Bucky arched an eyebrow.

“How much is ‘not much’?”

Steve smiled shyly. “How pissed would you be if I said I had my first kiss about five minutes ago?”

Bucky groaned, dropping his head to Steve’s shoulder.

“Are you trying to kill me?”

“A little,” Steve admitted quietly, turning his head to nibble Bucky’s ear.

“And you’re sure you want this?”

“No, I’ve suddenly realized I _don’t_ want to have my first sexual experience with the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, who is nice, funny and also literally part robot. Dear God, please, release me from this hell.”

“Okay, smartass,” Steve gave a satisfactory little yip when Bucky hefted him into his arms and moved towards the bedroom. Steve had strong little thighs and the heels of his converse dug into Bucky’s ass. Bucky wanted to kiss every inch of him and then again just in case he missed a spot.

Bucky kicked the door closed-ish behind them and spun to place Steve on his feet. He knew his room was impersonal, but hopefully still comfortable. He had a few shirts tossed on the back of a chair and a motorcycle magazine on his nightstand, tucked underneath an issue of Cat Fancy that Becca got him and he pretended not to read.

He sat heavily on the bed, unlacing his boots and placing them at the end of the bed. Steve stood by the door, his confidence from the kitchen seemingly misplaced. Bucky smiled softly and beckoned Steve over to him. As the teenager shuffled between his spread thighs, Bucky looked up at Steve for the first time. His eyelashes were dark and thick, and the warm, low lighting of the bedroom, the bruises on his face disappeared.

Bucky gathered both his hands into his own and kissed his knuckles softly.

“What do you want?”

Steve hesitated, his cheek darkening.

“Can I, um…,” he stopped, before falling to his knees, nuzzling softly into Bucky’s denim clad thigh.

“Oh, baby,” Bucky breathed softly, brushing Steve’s hair back from his eyes. “Yes, take what you want.”

Steve’s eyes widened imperceptibly, before he laughed softly.

“Would you believe I had a dream just like this?”

“I’m still working on believing this isn’t a dream,” Bucky said, slyly. “What happened in the dream, Stevie?”

“We were in your class, and we were alone.”

“Well, I should hope so. I’m not ready to share you yet.”

“And you told me I should call you ‘sir’ and told me to take what I wanted. I tried to undo your pants but you stopped me and told me to go slow, not to use my hands yet.”

Bucky’s heart was pounding.

“So I pressed my face against you and I could feel you. And then you slipped your fingers into my mouth and let me suck on them.”

“Jesus, baby.”

“Yeah, you said that a lot, too,” Steve laughed shakily. “And then you, um, you asked me if, well…”

Steve trailed off.

“What did I ask?”

“If I could come just from sucking on your big cock,” Steve shuddered and turned his face into Bucky’s thigh. Bucky moved Steve, grasping his face in his hands and hunching over awkwardly to kiss him, taste him.

Bucky pulled away, murmuring softly, “I’m going to take such good care of you, baby.”

“I trust you, Buck.”

Steve slid his hand up Bucky’s leg to settle over the bulge in his pants. He rubbed at Bucky gently before leaning closer and mouthing softly at the hard line of Bucky’s zipper. Gaining courage, Steve flicked open the button and opened his fly.

Bucky wanted to lean back on his elbow, but knew that would give him too much leverage to buck up into Steve’s mouth. If he stayed hunched over, he could at least maintain a modicum of control over himself.

Bucky helpfully wiggled his hips a bit to get his jeans down enough for Steve to have access to him. Steve mouthed at the line of Bucky’s dick through the dark green of his briefs. He moved up Bucky’s length before gently tonguing the head through the moistening cotton.

Bucky whimpered and threaded his fingers gently through Steve’s hair. It had been a very long time for Bucky, and he already felt like he was balanced on a knife-edge.

* * *

 

Steve had watched enough porn to get him up to this point. He gently hooked a finger below the waistband of Bucky’s briefs and moved it to tuck beneath his balls, drawn up tight and huge. Bucky’s cock was ridiculous. Long and thick, dark and flushed at the tip. Steve now felt like he could call all of that porn ‘research’ because Bucky’s dick was straight out of his wildest jerk-off fantasies.

“Shit,” he muttered quietly. Or not so quietly.

“You don’t have to go any further, Steve,” Bucky said, breathless. He looked up at him and smiled in a way he hoped was winning, before leaning forward and lapping hesitantly at the tip.

“Oh, fuck, baby.”

Steve kissed a line down Bucky’s dick, moving a hand to wrap loosely around the base to steady it. When he reached the top of his hand, he paused before pressing his tongue flat to the underside and drawing it up to the tip.

Bucky was very vocal. Moaning, cursing, praising God, praising Steve. His hands shook as he gently stroked his fingers through Steve’s hair.

Steve steeled himself before enveloping the head of Bucky’s cock in his mouth. He was getting to the end of his knowledge, aside from teeth=bad. He suckled gently at Bucky’s cock, finding the taste of his precome to be pretty bad, but bearable. Steve gently pressed his tongue against the base of Bucky’s head and had to pull off to smile when Bucky cursed and moaned and blurted a fresh burst of liquid into his mouth.

“C’mere,” Bucky hooked his hands under Steve’s arms and pulled him up to straddle his lap. They kissed for a moment, before Bucky pulled away, laughing softly.

“Why don’t we get your shoes off, Steve?”

Steve flushed and leaned back awkwardly to kick off his Converse.

When he turned around, Steve saw something in Bucky’s eyes he felt he wasn’t supposed to see yet: adoration, longing.

“Do you want to take my shirt off, Steve?” Bucky asked, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the skin of Steve’s lower back. Steve nodded and moved to pull off Bucky’s henley.

“Steve,” Bucky gently touched his wrist. “It’s… not very pretty. I have a lot of scars.”

Steve snorted, and pressed a firm, chaste kiss to Bucky’s mouth. “You could have a tattoo of Strawberry Shortcake and I’d still want to jump your bones.”

He finished removing the shirt and tossed it.

* * *

 

Bucky shuddered as Steve ran a hand up his now bared metal arm. He paused as he reached the seam at the shoulder.

“Can I?” Steve asked hesitantly.

Bucky nodded. “I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”

Steve’s fingers were so gently, adoring as he explored the knotted scar tissue and deep red lines around the joint. After a moment he moved on, stroking his hand down Bucky’s chest, seemingly taking note of how Bucky shivered when he gently scratched at his flat nipples. Steve groaned as he moved over the ridges of Bucky’s abs, the sharp lines at his hips.

Steve’s hand slid back up his abs and out across his ribs. He bent to kiss at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, the seam of his arm, down to suck lightly at Bucky’s nipple, before pausing to lave at a scar at the base of Bucky’s pectoral.

“They said they were going to cut out my heart,” Bucky gasped softly, moving a hand to the back of Steve’s head. Steve whimpered and kissed along the breadth of the scar before lunging to claim Bucky’s mouth. They fell back to lie on the bed.

Steve began to move hesitantly against Bucky, grinding his hips down. The material of Steve’s jeans was rough against Bucky’s cock, so he shifted slightly, slotting his thigh between Steve’s. The teenager moaned enthusiastically, rutting down against Bucky. He pulled away to pant and groan into the side of Bucky’s neck.

“That’s it, baby,” Bucky slid a hand down to cup Steve’s ass, firm and so tiny. “Do you want to come like this?”

Steve groaned, but the movement of his hips stopped. He shifted to prop his elbows on the larger man’s chest.

“I want more, Bucky.”

“Then we should probably take off some of those clothes,” Bucky sat up. “Can I take off your shirt, Steve?”

“I ain’t much, Buck,” Steve warned, moving to undo his top button. “I’m like 90% bones.”

Bucky batted his hands away and swiftly undid the buttons of his flannel. “Stop saying stupid shit.”

Underneath, Steve had on two long sleeved undershirts, which Bucky removed, laughing.

“What? I get cold.”

“Well, I’ll have to warm you up,” Bucky smiled and shifted Steve off of his lap so that he could kick off his jeans and slide his briefs the rest of the way off. Steve stood and stripped off his jeans and boxers. Bucky admired Steve naked for the first time.

“Christ, Stevie. You’re…”

“Skinny,” Steve supplied unhelpfully, as he moved to straddle Bucky again.

“I was going to say perfect, beautiful, angelic or boner-worthy, but I supposed ‘skinny’ is also accurate,” Steve yelped and then moaned as Bucky dug his fingers into the soft skin of his ass. Bucky moved his flesh hand to loosely circle the hard jut of Steve’s cock. Steve was… proportional. Bucky was sure he was as self-conscious about this as everything else, but Bucky liked it. He could probably comfortably fit all of Steve into mouth. In fact, Bucky was already making plans to, at a later date, finger Steve until he cried while he sucked his brilliant brain right out of his dick.

“Oh, Bucky,” Steve moaned, high and needy. “I’m not going to last long.”

“Me neither,” Bucky admitted. “I haven’t been with anyone for… a while.”

Steve smiled. “How long is ‘a while’?” he asked, mimicking Bucky’s question from earlier.

“Almost two years.”

Steve’s grin slid from his face, and he collapsed back to rest on Bucky’s thighs.

“Bucky, I don’t want to pressure you if you aren’t ready,” Steve had his trademark ‘solemn look of morality’ on.

“You’re not,” Bucky replied simply. “It’s been… rough since I got back and while I was overseas I wasn’t interested in making trouble. But I like you, and I want to be with you.”

Steve nodded mutely, and kissed Bucky like no one ever had before. When he pulled back, Steve looked him in the eye and said,

“I really want to ride your metal fingers now.”

Bucky practically choked.

“Steve,” he spluttered, as the boy in question leaned over to go through his nightstand. As predicted he found a mostly full bottle of lube and a strip of condoms. “On top of the fact that this is your first time, I’ve never fingered anyone with my prosthetic. I don’t want to hurt you.” He paused. “Also, I have no idea how to clean lube out of there plates and I’m not interested in asking Stark.”

“Can you not bring up my math teacher, right now?”

“Steve, I’m your teacher.”

“Eh, barely.”

“I resent that.”

Steve pressed the lube into his hands, “I resent that your fingers aren’t up my ass yet.”

Bucky laughed, but kissed behind Steve’s ear softly before gently moving him to his back. He hooked Steve’s ankles over his shoulders and, acting on a whim, dipped to scoop his purpling cock into his mouth.

Steve practically shrieked.

Bucky didn’t like to brag, but he could probably win a medal in sucking cock. Enthusiasm should never be discounted, and Bucky truly loved sucking cock. He could spend hours relishing the weight of Steve on his tongue, feeling the ache in his jaw, letting drips of saliva slide over his lips to coat Steve’s length.

But for now, he settled for bobbing up and down slowly, not wanting to test Steve’s teenaged stamina. Bucky moved his hand to rub the tip of a lubed finger against Steve’s tiny hole. Christ, how was he going to fit in there?

Steve’s hand scrabbled helplessly at the blankets. Bucky pulled off of his cock with an undignified slurp, to find him fisting a hand in his own hair.

“You can pull my hair, Steve,” Bucky said, licking his swollen lips. “It really turns me on.”

“You’re going to kill me,” Steve cried, but latched on to Bucky’s head nevertheless.

Bucky gently pushed the tip of his finger into Steve, surprised when he slid in fairly easily.

“I, uh, may have fingered myself this morning,” Steve stammered. “I thought about you,” he added.

Bucky pulled off Steve’s cock and adjusted his position to focus at the task at hand.

“You’re a menace,” he folded Steve neatly in half to press a firm kiss to his mouth as he moved his finger inside of him. “Another?”

“Mmmmm, mmm hmm,” Steve groaned, looking pleased, his eyes closed in bliss.

Bucky pressed in his middle finger, relishing the way Steve’s hole wrapped around his thick fingers, tight and hot. He wouldn’t last long inside of him.

After just a few minutes, Steve was begging for more.

“Please, Buck, I can take more.”

“So greedy,” Bucky smiled, as he pressed his ring finger in, using his thumb to press and tease at Steve’s perineum.

“Shit, Jesus Christ,” Steve moaned so beautifully, arching his back, pressing his heels into Bucky’s shoulder blades. Bucky turned and sucked a dark purple mark into the soft skin above his knee. Bucky leaned down to whisper in his ear,

“Do you want to come like this Steve? Me fingering your greedy hole, sucking down your pretty little cock.”

Steve groaned and writhed eagerly against Bucky’s cock, now pressed against his.

“No,” he panted, helpless. “I want you to fuck me. I want to feel you inside of me, sir.”

“Yes, baby, anything you want,” Bucky didn’t realize how much of an authority kink he had until meeting Steve. He was going to hell. “Are you ready?”

“I think so,” Steve said, looking at Bucky and chewing on his beautiful red lips. “I trust you.”

Bucky closed his eyes to collect himself, before gently unfolding Steve and reaching for a condom. Steve grabbed his hand.

“I want to feel you, Buck.”

Bucky shook his head, “You’ll still feel me plenty. But this way you won’t have come sliding out of you in the morning. Trust me, I know.”

Steve’s eyes widened slightly. Bucky leaned down and kissed his forehead.

“Soon you can fuck me, Stevie, and we can talk about condoms later. But for now, let’s go with the surgeon general’s recommendation.”

Steve huffed, but nodded. Bucky rolled on the condom and slicked himself up. He kissed Steve, letting his tongue explore a little, before kissing down his neck, sucking lightly at his beautiful pink nipples, licking a soft trail down to his cock. He spent a moment sucking on him lightly, getting Steve hot and bothered, before pulling off and hitching his legs around his hips.

Bucky squeezed Steve’s thigh gently.

“I’m going to go slow, but let me know if it hurts or if you want to stop. You say the word and I’ll suck you off so good, baby.”

“Stop being so damn perfect and get inside me, Buck,” Steve blushed, tweaking a nipple affectionately.

* * *

 

Steve felt Bucky line up the blunt head of his cock against his hole. He watched Bucky stare, enraptured, as Steve’s hole stretched to accommodate the thick head of his cock.

“Shit, Bucky, you’re huge,” Steve moaned. He would have called himself a fairly experienced amateur at sticking things up his ass, but Bucky was just a lot. His thickness pressed inside of Steve, so slowly, before he stopped.

“Are you okay, baby?”

“No, why did you stop?” Steve practically cried, digging his heels into Bucky’s thighs, trying desperately to pull him in deeper. “I need you, Bucky. More, please.”

Bucky groaned and obliged, still moving at an excruciating pace. Steve felt a slight sting, but mostly just an overwhelming fullness. As Bucky pressed his hot length into him, it felt like his whole body was rearranging itself to make Bucky a part of him.

Steve felt Bucky press kisses to his cheeks, and realized with embarrassment that tears had gathered at the corners of his eyes.

“Bucky, it’s so much, it’s too good.”

“I know, sweeties, I’m almost in all the way.” Almost? Christ.

The last bit was nothing but goodness. Bucky rocked softly in and out a few times, letting Steve loosen up for him.

“Open your eyes, baby.”

Steve looked up at Bucky, and titled his chin up, begging to be kissed. Bucky swallowed the sounds Steve let slip into his mouth as he started to move in longer strokes. Bucky adjusted his grip so that he could press Steve’s slim thigh closer to his chest. After a few more erratic strokes, Bucky grazed something perfect inside of Steve.  

“That, that, more of that,” Bucky laughed breathlessly, as Steve begged, but continued to hit that spot. As Steve grew more wild, he dug his fingers into Bucky’s shoulders, before reaching to grasp his metal wrist where Bucky was balancing near Steve’s head.

“Shit, baby, I’m close,” Bucky moaned, burying his face in Steve’s neck, sucking a soft mark there.

“Come,” Steve murmured softly in his ear, stroking his fingers through Bucky’s hair, now damp and salty with sweat.

Bucky snapped his hips firmly and then froze shuddering. He panted into Steve’s neck, whispering endearments, how perfect Steve was, how beautiful and soft and tight and warm. After a moment, Bucky slipped out of Steve. He removed the condom, tying it off hastily before sliding down the bed.

Steve moaned, pleasure coursing through him as Bucky sucked down his cock once again.

“Fingers, please, fingers,” Steve panted, not caring how needy he sounded.

Bucky obliged, pressing gently on that spot inside of him, sucking so enthusiastically at his cock, gently rolling his balls in his metal hand.

Steve came so hard he thought he probably died for a moment.

As he panted, trying fruitlessly to regain his breath, Bucky collapsed next to him, gently pulling Steve to rest on his broad chest.

After a moment, Steve looked up and wiped a drop of come from Bucky’s chin. He moved wipe it on the sheet, but Bucky grabbed his wrist. He sucked his finger into his mouth and cleaned away the evidence of Steve’s pleasure. The thick muscled arm around Steve tightened, pulling him up for a slow, lazy kiss.

“You taste good everywhere, sweetie,” Bucky murmured sleepily. Steve hummed, settling against Bucky’s chest. After a moment, Bucky moved him gently, and walked to the bathroom. When he returned with a washcloth, he was preceded by the tortoiseshell cat.

“Masha get’s sad if she’s closed up too long,” Bucky shrugged helplessly. Masha moved to the arm chair and settled into the nest of Bucky’s shirts, curling her head into her stomach as if to give them privacy.

Bucky gently ran the cloth between Steve’s thighs and around his hole, before cleaning off his own softened cock.

After he dug around in his drawers pulling on a pair of briefs. He came back to the bed handing Steve a pair of underwear, and, blushing, a soft henley.

“I don’t want you to freeze. My arm’s cold and the heat’s not too good.”

Steve, laughing, pulled on the henley, but pushed the underwear aside. It would be hopelessly too big.

Bucky grinned, pulling down the covers and wriggling in next to Steve. He reached down for the spare blanket before pulling Steve close, tucking his head under his chin. Steve squished impossibly closer, hooking leg over Bucky’s hip.

“Stevie?”

“Yeah, Buck?”

“Did tonight live up to your wet dreams?”

Steve groaned, pressing his cold nose against Bucky’s throat.

“Good night, Mr. Barnes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I think it's cute when men like cats. SUE ME.  
> 2) I like to think that in the kitchen scene, Bucky is the Marion to Steve's Indiana Jones.  
> 3) Sorry if the math was random. I just had to...  
> 4) I know the perspective shifts a lot, but hopefully it wasn't too weird  
> 5) Thank you for reading! Depending on the response, I might write one-shots for this storyline.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comment to feed this new author's gluttonous ego.  
> Find me on tumblr: tumblr.com/blog/mafgmouse.


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